The May Bank Holiday - a time to rest and put your feet up, to relax and enjoy a bit of peace and quiet?

Not a chance!

This calendar break gives rise to two of the best events of the year, the Maldon Mud Race in Essex and the Tetbury Woolsack Race in Gloucestershire.

The Maldon Mud Race began in 1973 when a dare was issued by a local resident to the landlord of the Queens Head public house which stands on the Hythe Quay. The landlord was challenged by the local to serve him a meal on the saltings of the River Blackwater, whilst wearing a dinner jacket! Saltings, to those mainlanders unfamiliar with the term, is the area of coastal land that is regularly covered by the tide.

The challenge was duly accepted and carried out - and the following year a bar was opened up on the saltings, and about 20 people made a mad dash across the river bed to drink a pint of beer, before dashing back.

And thus the Maldon Mud Race was born.

Since these somewhat dubious beginnings, the Maldon Mud Race evolved into what is undoubtedly one of the UK’s most successful, hilarious and popular spectacles designed to raise money for local charities and good causes. To illustrate this point, last year the Mud Race Committee gave more than £55,000 to charity, whilst more than 16,000 visitors came to the event, and 300 competitors took on the challenge.

Now my association with Maldon, and ultimately that of the fundraising foundation Always With A Smile, began in 2009 - a year which the record books show played host to two Mud Runs, one in January and another in December.

Now a summer time event (thankfully), this is one 400 metre dash that I literally can’t wait to get ‘stuck in’ to.

In 2011 I really made my mark at the event when, after dragging a hapless Jo Brand out of the mud, I suffered from what is known in my business as a costume malfunction. The silver costume I was wearing, which admittedly only covered the bare essentials on what was a glorious sunny day, was literally sucked from my body, leaving me, well, simply bare!

This year, having spoken to the organisers, I was made aware that, like so many of the wonderful events that I take part in all across the UK, finding sponsorship and financial backing was becoming a harder and harder, and this gave me an idea.

As a result of my 2011 mishap, I could make claim to being the only man to have completed the Maldon Mud Run naked - and due to an oversight by the editors at the BBC, the only man to have appeared naked on Blue Peter! - but what about starting the race? Now that had never been done before.

As such, following a brisk competitor warm up in my branded Always With A Smile underpants, I cloaked myself in a white dressing gown and, following a slight of hand manoeuvre, made my way to the banks of the river with the other 299 competitors.

With the race about to start, I hung back near the spectators so that my ‘reveal’ would not be wasted. However, a keen eyed start official noted my mischievous demure and approached me.

“You have got something on under that dressing gown, haven’t you sir?” he enquired.

I looked at him plain-faced, as the other runners began their struggle through the waist deep mud of the Blackwater.

Straight away he was on his on his comms like a panicking agent from the TV-show 24, “Control… Control… We have a streaker… What do I do ?Control? Repeat, we have a streaker…”

“I’m not a streaker…” I protested. “Trust me, I’ve done this before… I know what I’m doing!”

He eyeballed me, possibly weighing up my motives or judging whether or not I was some kind of lunatic.

With his hand raised up to his ear microphone he walked away, obviously in discussion with ‘Control’: “He says his name is Joel Hicks and he runs a charity foundation, what should I…” was all I heard before he turned once more, and with a grin gave me a thumbs-up.

That was all the incentive I needed. With a slip of the robe from the shoulder I emerged from the spectators, one hand cupping my credentials! As the thousands lining the river bank noticed my pale cheeks wobble forward, roars of laughter and cheers erupted amongst a flash of camera lights.

I turned, and with my spare hand, waved back at all those who had come to Maldon to support this wonderful event, before turning back and belly flopping into the thick Blackwater mud!

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As I made my streamlined way through the field, unaware competitors both shrieked and folded over in hysterics as the realisation of my now mud-covered nakedness squelched past them!

With approximately 300 metres covered, I had made my way from one side of the river bank to the other, and was on the return leg to the finish line and heading back towards an expectant crowd. As I came into view, once again camera flashes dazzled from the mass of onlookers who laughed with unabated guffaw.

As I crawled from the mud, my mud-covered unmentionables concealed at all times, I rose to my feet under a deafening standing ovation, before a microphone was thrust into my face, a TV camera close behind.

“Joel… You’ve been doing the Maldon Mud Race for many years, and the crowd obviously loved this year’s costume, but why do it naked?”

And my response?

“I love coming to Maldon, and this event does so much for charities and good causes, it really is remarkable. And the people watching and taking part today have been fantastic once again, the atmosphere was unbelievable, better than ever.

“But it’s the organisers who deserve all the credit, the people who graft all year round in order to make today happen - the work that goes into an event like this today is massive, and the Mud Run needs more support. They need more sponsors to come forward, they need more help.

“So I’m offering myself up - I ran the race today without a costume because I’m available as advertising space for next year’s event. If a company or business comes forward next year, and backs the Maldon Mud Race, I will wear whatever they want, they can brand me however they choose, and I’ll do everything I can to promote both them and the Maldon Mud Race. Events like this need supporting, they need backing, so, if I can do my little bit, by wearing a bit less, so that a sponsor comes forward, well, I’m a happy (and very muddy) man!”

On returning home from Essex, and after several attempts at washing the mud from (quite literally) every orifice, I managed to grab just a few hours sleep before heading down to Gloucestershire for my second event of the Bank Holiday.

The Tetbury Woolsack Races have no greater aim than for individuals and teams to demonstrate their strength and fitness by racing up the main street in this picturesque village whilst carrying a sack of wool.

“Wool”, I hear you cry?! “That’s not tough…” An understandable assumption, until you realise that the men carry sacks weighing 60lbs, the women 30lbs, that the street reaches a gradient of 1 in 4 in places, over exactly 240 yards, and that the winner will run the course in about 40 odd seconds!

A real community occasion, the race events are complemented by a street fair featuring varied stalls, a funfair, musical entertainments and roving entertainers, and in over 30 years of operation, the Woolsack Races have proven to be a fantastic family day out and (more importantly) have raised a considerable amount of much needed money for local causes.

Since my time as founder of the Always With A Smile foundation, I’ve taken to the course half a dozen or so times (most notably, as one half of a pantomime horse in 2011 and blindfolded in 2013).

This year I was once again back in action, this time as an Apache Indian, complete with face paint and headdress - and the smallest of loin cloths!

The best thing about this event is without doubt the atmosphere. The crowd fills the pavements along the route of the course, held back by barriers, and the support they give to all competitors as they pound their way along the course, their blood pumping, sweat pouring and teeth grinding, drives each and every entrant to push as hard as they can.

I myself fell victim to the euphoric roar of the crowd two years ago, when on hearing their cries of encouragement tried to overtake the race leader just a few yards ahead of me, with just a dozen yards to the finish line. The heart wanted to power past my rival, and I could feel myself catching him and then coming level, and then crash! With my legs disappearing from underneath me, my woolsack and I came tumbling to the floor just a metre or two before the finish, my glory turned to despair - much to the laughter of the watching masses.

As I took to the start line this year, alongside the two other entrants I would be racing against in my particular race, I was aware that there might be an issue with my initial lift of the woolsack, given the elaborate design of my Native American attire. And sure enough, as I heaved the cumbersome woolsack on to my shoulders on the command to start, I dislodged my headgear as my race rivals sped off along the street. From this point on, I knew that if I was going to win my race, it would take one of the greatest comebacks in Woolsack history!

Eventually, I managed to set myself and made my first strides along the course, much to the cheers of the crowd that lined the start. With a slight downhill stretch to mark the first part of the race, I could see the heels of my competitors ahead, as I ran and joked with one or two of the spectators who shouted out to try and encourage the ‘Naked Indian’ along!

As the downhill became flat, and then moved to an incline, I closed in on my first competitor. Shoulder to shoulder we ran, before I ‘ghosted past’ as described my the commentator on the loud speakers addressing the crowd.

I looked up, and I could see the leader had slowed, and slowed dramatically at that! I was gaining, but the finish line was in sight too - if I was to make my move, it had to be now.

With my left hand holding the sack above my head, I released my right hand and spanked my bum cheek like a jockey applying the whip in the Grand National. The public blew up in laughter and roared me on.

“Go on! Go on!” they cried, as with each stride I gained on the runner who had led from the start.

With just 15 yards to go, I drew level and then exploded past my rival! A familiar feeling ran through my jelly legs, and I wondered if I’d be able to maintain my composure or whether I’d fall at the final hurdle like two years before.

But this year I was not not to be denied.

I crossed the finish line, my hand raised high, a huge smile across my cheeks… before bending double to try and suck as much air into my lungs as possible. As my fellow races crossed the line, we embraced in panting laughter and congratulated one another on a race well fought, and I gasped a sigh of relief in that I’d finally done my bit for - well, for another Bank Holiday at least!